Things We Leave Behind
by Lawson227
Summary: Tag to Episode 1.09, a little bit more of that wishful thinking where Barry and Caitlin talk in the wake of their mutual no good, terrible, very bad day. Can be considered a loose tie-in to Those Left Behind.


**Things We Leave Behind**

**Disclaimer: **As usual, own nothing, it's all DC & CW Network. Just a Christmas party/tree lighting tag to 1.09. Can be more or less considered loosely tied to THOSE LEFT BEHIND.

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><p>Joe positioned the angel atop the tree and flipped the switch, suffusing the room in a warm glow. An instant later, Iris glanced over her shoulder at Barry, her smile tinged with a sadness at odds with the joy filling the room. As their gazes met, Barry's broad smile faded into a look both weary and resigned.<p>

"You told her."

More statement than question, really, given how his gaze remained focused on Iris even after she turned her attention back to Eddie. Instinctively, Caitlin took a step closer to Barry.

Barry, bless him, didn't attempt to deflect or go for the disingenuous reply. In the few months of their actual, conscious, able-to-hold-actual-conversations relationship, they'd never been like that with each other, other than when he was being an asshat—his word, not hers—about his own well-being.

"Felt like it was time."

"Because they're moving in together?"

One eyebrow lifted as he spared her a quick, faintly annoyed, glance. "Because of a conversation I had with my dad."

"About?"

"How I'd put my life on hold—centered my entire existence over finding who killed my mother—to the exclusion of my own happiness."

"So… nothing ventured, nothing gained, then?"

"Definitely nothing gained." His sigh was long and pained. "But at least it's all out there."

A frisson of alarm tingled along her spine. "All?"

He stared at her blankly for a moment before his expression cleared. "Oh God, no—not that."

She exhaled, long and slow, attempting to slow her heart rate. "Thank God." Still unsteady, she backed away from the sofa and dropped to the bottom step of the staircase.

Barry took a seat beside her, his gaze returning to the tree and the angel serenely perched on top, pure and white, as if floating above it all. "What she does know has gotten her into enough trouble. Considering it looks like she'll never see me as anything other than good old Barry, best friend and de facto brother, she doesn't need to know the rest of it."

"While I'm undeniably relieved, for a number of reasons—"

_Such as it makes it a secret that he and I share—_

A thought there and gone so quickly, it might have been borne on the wings of Barry's speed—disappearing too quickly to express. Not that she ever intended to. Like, ever. "It does mean she doesn't really know who you are, Barry. Who you'll be, for the rest of your life."

"I know." The edges of his mouth ticked up. "Felicity told me the same thing, more or less." His gaze narrowed as he continued staring at the angel. "Thing is, Caitlin, I didn't tell her how I feel because I had any expectations. She's with Eddie—"

_Who's kind of an arrogant jackass_. Another thought best kept to herself. At least for now.

"And I don't know—maybe it is because she's with Eddie that I actually felt safe finally confessing. I think…" He stared down at his hands, as if struggling for the right words. "I think I knew going in it wasn't likely to change how she sees me or feels about me."

"Then why?"

His stare remained fixed on the comfortably mellowed hardwood. "Because it was time."

She kept her voice gentle. "For—?"

"Saying goodbye." He released another slow breath, but this one appeared to come easier, as if a giant weight had been lifted. Even so, a hint of the lost man she'd seen moments earlier remained in his expression, prompting her to slide a bit closer—close enough to feel the warmth of his body seeping into hers. She sighed and slid a fraction closer, unable to help herself. It seemed as if since that first, shocking encounter with Ronnie, she hadn't been able to quite get warm enough.

Until now.

"And are you okay?"

"Yeah."

As he continued staring down at the floor, long lashes casting dark shadows along the arc of his cheekbones, she found herself suddenly thrust back to those long, quiet nights when sleep proved elusive and what little she did get was scarred by horrific nightmares of explosions and fire and unending screams. Those were the nights she'd return to S.T.A.R. Labs to watch over a comatose Barry. She'd told herself she was only being a good doctor—a responsible physician and scientist—but truth was, sitting beside Barry's bed, she'd drawn immeasurable comfort from the steady beeping of the machines monitoring his vitals and even more so from his oddly peaceful presence. I was remarkable, really. He'd been struck by lightning, he'd all but died—more than once—and yet there he lay, an undeniable peace surrounding him. More nights than not during those nine long months the only sleep she'd gotten was at Barry's side.

After learning his history, she wondered if maybe the coma wasn't also the most peaceful sleep _he'd_ gotten in fourteen years.

"At least, mostly."

Barry's voice pulled her from her thoughts. "Mostly?"

His brows drew together as he spared another quick glance at Iris, returned to her perch on Eddie's lap. "I don't know who I am if I don't have the expectation—the possibility—of Iris in my life."

For the first time in their conversation he looked directly at her. The myriad colors of the blinking lights from the tree were clearly reflected in his eyes yet were unable to fully obscure their pale intense green. So like him, she thought. So many possibilities reflected in those eyes, but at their core, unchanging. So inescapably Barry. She took his hand in hers.

"You're Barry Allen," she said simply. "And I firmly believe _you_ know who you are—you just have to... recalibrate how you see things." She squeezed his hand gently. "How you see yourself."

"What if I don't like what I see?" His voice was so low she could barely make out the hesitant words.

"Then you're being entirely too hard on yourself."

He laughed quietly, the cotton of his sweatshirt soft and warm as it brushed against her bare arm. "So much faith in me, Caitlin."

"Yup." She nodded firmly. "Enough for the two of us if necessary. "

"Why is that?"

She lifted a shoulder and smiled. "Because I know you, Bartholomew Henry Allen."

"Oh no, not the full name. Anything but the full name." They laughed together, Barry gently squeezing her hand—an instant later, the smile faded.

Startled by the sudden change in his demeanor, she instinctively looked over her shoulder at Iris and Eddie, but they were still ensconced in their own little world, Eddie lazily rubbing Iris' back as she sat in his lap. For a brief moment Iris' gaze lifted from Eddie's to find hers, a quizzical expression wreathing her pretty features but Caitlin couldn't be bothered with what Iris might be thinking. Turning back to Barry, she found him staring down at their still-joined hands.

"What is it?"

"Your ring."

She looked down and watched, transfixed, as one long finger traced over the slight indentation that was all that remained of Ronnie's promise to her. The promise of their life together.

Swallowing around the tightness in her throat she quietly said, "It was time."

"Aw hell, Caitlin. I'm sorry."

She looked up to find his face wreathed in what could only be called guilt. "For what?"

"I've been so wrapped up in all of this Yellow Blur crap and avenging my mother and all my stupid feelings for Iris, I didn't even stop to think how you must have felt, seeing Ronnie like that. And then on top of everything, having him save my sorry ass—"

"Stop." She pressed her fingers to his lips, stilling the flood of words. "It's okay. We've each been… preoccupied."

"Yeah, but you weren't so preoccupied you couldn't help me. The way you _always_ help me." Each agitated word released a puff of warm air that bathed her skin. "I suck," he added, everything in his being screaming abject misery. Oddly enough, however, she found herself fighting the urge to laugh.

"Oh, Barry—" She shifted her hand to cup his cheek. "You did help. You gave me a reason to be so preoccupied, I couldn't sink into a bottomless well of self-pity. You gave me focus and purpose. You gave me someone I _could_ help."

"Doesn't seem terribly equitable," he muttered, clearly not mollified.

_Oh, Barry—no sooner do you relieve yourself of one massive weight than you're rushing in to take on another._

"The scales eventually even themselves out—you know that."

"I'll make sure they do."

"I know. Oh, and for the record—I'm extremely glad he saved your sorry ass."

He smiled, not quite the broad smile of earlier, but a quiet smile—one that fit the moment. "Me too."

They settled into an easy silence after that, hands remaining linked in comfortable camaraderie. Every now and again, Barry would absently rub the indentation on her ring finger, a gesture that felt… reassuring. She would likely wear the ring again before she was ready to put it away for good but at least for now, she wasn't feeling its absence as keenly as she might have expected.

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><p>He stood in the shadows, the heat thrumming through his body and increasing with every heartbeat. He'd have to leave soon—go somewhere deserted so he could release some of the pent-up pressure—but before he left for good, he'd felt compelled to check on her.<p>

That had been his intent earlier that evening when he'd arrived at S.T.A.R. Labs. All he'd wanted was to find a quiet place to watch—to make certain she was all right after everything she'd seen. All that she'd experienced. He _had_ to make sure she was okay. Instead, he'd found a fierce battle raging.

His initial instinct had been to protect her, swoop her away from the madness, but then he'd heard her desperate cry—

_"Barry!"_

Even now the sheer terror in her voice echoed through his head—a sound he'd only heard once before. And blind instinct—the driving force in his life these days—had once more kicked in and he'd rushed in to save the red-suited blur. The blur that had been revealed to be a man. One who immediately looked to her once the smarmy yellow bastard had zoomed off. And whose glance she'd met for a brief, searing moment before she approached him.

He'd meant what he said—he didn't want her looking for him. Of the fragments of his life that he could recall, he knew she'd been a good part—a very good part—but there was no room in what life he had now for that sort of goodness.

The man in red. The man who currently sat beside her, holding her hand and smiling at her in a way that reassured him she would be taken care of. That she would be protected.

That's whose life she belonged in.

With a final glance at the pair, Ronnie turned and walked away—

Leaving them behind.

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><p><strong>AN: <strong>I was taken by the scene with Cisco in which Caitlin played with her ring, indicating perhaps she's maybe nearing a point of moving on—at least somewhat—emotionally. While she actually is wearing it at the Christmas party, I decided to take creative license for the purposes of the story.


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